A/N: Here's another chapter of this story, already! I don't know why, but this one was really easy to write. Really, really easy. (Which is why I'm updating so soon.) I just got an inspiration for the beginning and took off from there.

Anyway, this is Tom's perspective now, about that day in New York and what came after it. Rose's POV next, and then only another chapter or two (or maybe three) until the end of the story! Yay!

I hope you enjoy this, it offers some explanation for Tom's outrageous behavior. (Don't be too mad at him, just remember: he's only a dimwitted male, unable to comprehend the complexities of female thought processes. )

Read and enjoy, reviews much appreciated!

~Star

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Tom

Oh, and yes. There was that other time I saw Rose. In New York. But I don't like to think about that.

Is that what this is all about? But no… it couldn't have happened that quickly. No, it had to have been something else. Not me. I couldn't have wrecked this whole thing… could I?

Oh god.

If I could take back one thing in my life, I would take back that day. I wish it had never happened.

It was supposed to be a surprise for me. Rose had gotten a plane ticket for Christmas, and she came to see me as soon as she could. It was the first time we'd seen each other since her sixteenth birthday surprise and the beautiful night on the roof of the school… It should have been perfect. That was when we should have building on the foundation of our relationship.

Instead, the foundation was left out until it crumbled. Now all that's left is a gaping hole in my heart.

No, no, I didn't say that. I'm fine, I'm better than fine. I don't need her.

Oh, who am I kidding. Of course I need Rose. When Indigo asks me if I miss her, I always say no, but both of us know it's a lie. With her gone, it's like missing a leg. When someone asks you, do you miss your leg, you don't know quite how to respond. Of course you miss your leg, you can't function properly without it!

The night before, I'd been at a party. And there'd been alcohol. (Of course.) So I'd gotten a little drunk, or maybe a lot drunk, and had some fun. Before I knew it, there was some girl dancing with me. And in my drunken stupidity, I had brought her home.

Luckily, my family was visiting friends out of town for the night (yes, I still live with my parents. What can I say, some of us are broke) so we were uninterrupted.

The next morning when I woke up, cloying, unfamiliar perfume filling my nose, I realized what I had done. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up, partly because of the hangover, and partly because of how sick I felt about what had happened. I fell asleep again on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

I woke up again a few hours later when I heard the voices of my family downstairs. I stumbled back to my room and found the girl, the girl whose name I still don't know, sitting up in my bed. I nearly was sick again.

How could I have… What kind of person did this make me, that I would cheat on my sixteen-year-old girlfriend who was perfect for me in every way… What would I say to Rose?

The girl stood up and walked over to me. I heard footsteps on the stairs and tried to push her away, but she pulled me down and planted her lips on mine. I struggled to escape the crush of her mouth, but she just wasn't having it.

And then I heard the most awful sound in my life. A sort of strangled, half-gasp, half-moan. A sound filled with shock and pain, horror and disbelief. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach doubled, and I pulled away to look at the door.

It was my worst nightmare.

Rose was standing there. My Rose, my darling Rose, was looking at me with a blank expression, as though she couldn't process what was in front of her.

I couldn't breath. I couldn't scream. I couldn't shout to her, tell her that it was all a mistake, that I had never meant for this to happen. All I could do was watch as she stared at me, then turned away and ran down the stairs.

All of a sudden I could move. I dashed down the stairs after her and out into the street, calling after her. She didn't listen to me, it was as if she couldn't even hear me. I followed her all the way down into the nearest subway station before I lost sight of her in the crowds.

I knew Rose would go right back home, and I knew I had to talk to her. So I booked the next available flight to England, and made it there only three days later.

I spent the flight composing a letter to Rose, explaining what had happened. I wasn't sure she'd let me talk to her, so I figured I'd leave her the letter and once she understood what had happened we could talk.

It didn't happen quite like I thought it would.

I arrived at the Casson house when nobody was home. Eve wasn't in her shed, either. Where had the whole family gone? (Bill had insisted on 'family time' and people were just about to come back, I found out later.)

But right then I didn't know what to do, so I climbed up onto the roof and opened Rose's window and left my letter on her bed, then climbed back out. I didn't quite know what to do with myself, and so I went to the park.

I wish I hadn't. I wish I had just left and then maybe things would be different.

But I did go.

And as I was strolling in the park, whistling one of my songs for Rose, I spotted the very girl I was here for. She was partially out of view behind a tree, so I walked over until I could see more clearly.

And then I wished I hadn't.

Because there was Rose, all right. And there was some other boy. Some other awful boy with his hands on my Rose's waist and his lips on my Rose's face.

And the worst part was, she didn't seem to mind. No, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. I was transfixed; I didn't want to see anymore, but I couldn't look away.

And then the spell was broken and I could look away and I turned and strode back through the park, out to the street where I caught a taxi to the airport and flew back home and that was the end of that.

Only, that's not really the end.

I spent the entire trip back to America wondering who that boy was and how long he'd known my Rose, and if she had liked him before now. (Of this, I was fairly certain. Rose wouldn't kiss someone she didn't love, and she didn't fall in love that fast. I would know.) And I wondered if she had found my note and what she thought of it and if maybe she would forgive me and explain herself and everything could go back to the way it had been before, just a few months ago.

But none of my wondering mattered. Rose never called, never explained herself. She didn't say anything about my note. If she took that one that badly, I wasn't about to try again.

So I haven't heard from her since. It's been nearly five long years now, and I still haven't spoken to Rose.

But I still miss her like hell.

And I wish I could see her.

And I wish I could talk to her.

And I wish I could fix everything.

But I can't. I just can't.

Or can I?